


Baggage

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet: 900 [9]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 15:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18075761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. Imprinting goes both ways.





	Baggage

**Author's Note:**

> Not the most original ideas ever, this series. But we like it for what it is.

Gavin Reed had a (supposed) talent for calling in sick.

Except when he didn’t. The foreboding “no call, no show” status typed in beside his struck-out name on the duty roster had the precinct wondering. They didn’t have to say as much to the absent detective’s partner, but he could overhear the bullpen’s collective mutters all the same.

_“Second time this week, that’s a record - a record low.”_

_“Back-to-back, who knows what he’s wastin’ time with, or who with.”_

_“You know that isn’t Chen. He doesn’t watch out, Fowler will have them trading badges soon enough.”_

Normally, Noah paid the gossip no attention. It was white noise, just as too much dispatch chatter ceased to be meaningful. And if their co-workers were really so concerned, it was a simple enough matter for any of them to call Gavin, or drive over to Warrendale Center. But they wouldn’t. They didn’t care enough to have their attentions shot down by a gruff “fuck you” and the sound of the line disconnecting, or a door slammed in their face.

Ever an exception to popular trends, Ben Collins focused only on his work - that is, his and Reed’s combined caseload. With quiet determination he kept typing away, making the occasional call to a clerk or another precinct. He said nothing to the effect of pondering why it was - three weeks after being shot - Gavin might suddenly be pulling the PTSD card.

Aside from all his usual processes, Noah could admit to wondering for himself. And, if he was being completely honest, he was worrying to some extent. Aside from a few cursory follow-up visits, he had done his best to respect Gavin’s unspoken request for peace and quiet while he healed.

Now, the android was starting to wonder if it was too much.

One tentative suggestion later, it seemed Ben Collins agreed.

A light rain had begun by the time Noah stepped out onto a landing ledge.

——-

It wasn't like Gavin intentionally let one fucking catastrophe strike after the other. It just always seemed to work out that way, one after the other after yet another.

Usually he could work through them, punch in, grind away at paperwork, show up in court, collar a few perps. All without telling anyone just what else was going wrong in his life - usually those who would even dare to wonder out loud got their answer from his dark mood. Or, at least, darker than usual. Once he stopped being actively annoying, people kept more distance than usual.

Maybe the difference between those times and this time was that he could usually at least find his trademark anger to hold onto, using it to ignore whatever other fucked up feelings were swirling around inside of him.

This time, though, there wasn't any of that to hold onto. What was there to be angry about? Gavin couldn't even grasp onto those straws that always seemed to be there.

It wasn’t even enough trouble for him to pretend he was sick, call in with a fake cough or something. It was too much to work through, too much to think of, to even just grab the phone and make a call.

Fuck, that wasn't healthy, wasn't it?

No. But what did any of them care?

Only fucking person who cared was dead now, and Gavin didn't even say goodbye. Hell, he couldn't even really remember the last time they talked on the phone. It hadn’t been a bad call, but it hadn’t been notable enough to remember, either.

…Tough shit. Worst things happened to people on a daily basis, but here he was, being a mopey bastard, drinking himself into a stupor the way Hank used to. He should get over himself and get the fuck out of bed, out of the same shirt and pajama pants he had been wearing for what, two, three days now?

Easier said than done. Gavin would have to get out of bed to do that.

It felt much better to just burrow under his blankets, face pressed into his pillow as he waited for something to change in his mood without even attempting to do anything to relieve it. It wasn't like there was anyone who would yell at him, force him to better himself.

Fuck it. Arms wrapping tighter around his pillow with a huff, Gavin squeezed his eyes shut tighter, not letting himself cry. Didn't matter whether anyone saw it, it mattered because he would know he did.

Only he had to know.

——-

Standing on the doormat, Noah debated his options for all of eight milliseconds before pressing a fingertip to the door’s electronic lock. To try knocking or pressing the doorbell was effectively useless. There was a big chance both would be largely ignored. And in any case, he had a right to be concerned - professionally, if not personally.

He wasn’t about to waste any time loitering in the hallway, dripping from the rain, calling for Gavin to answer. The home security package that was standard issue among Warrendale Center’s residents was easy enough to hack. The handle even gave a bright chirp as if were pleased to be unlocked.

Predictably enough, the first sign of life inside came in the form of a black-and-white shorthaired cat. The feline lay curled up, burrowed into a comfortable nook atop the back of the couch. Lazily, Colby’s yellow eyes opened to slits before closing.

He seemed decidedly unimpressed with this unannounced guest.

Gently, Noah shut the door, which beeped another affirmative as the lock reset. Glancing around the living room, he saw just what he thought: several dirtied glasses, a mostly-empty pizza box, a few smoked-through cartons of cigarettes, plastic ashtrays overflowing with spent filters. Whatever was wrong, Reed had resorted to indulging in his favorite food groups: nicotine and grease, chased with liquor.

Rain kept pattering and snailing down the windows, leaving streaky shadows, as Noah crept over to the half-opened bedroom door, peering inside.

“Detective?”

The bed was unmade, covered in beige and brown furnishings. Under those layers of blankets and sheets, a body had taken residence. Face buried into his pillow, folds bunched up, Reed’s unwashed hair stuck up in disheveled, matted spikes.

Not daring to move closer just yet, Noah knocked on the bedroom door.

“ _Detective_.”

Gavin tensed up under the blanket but didn't make any other movements, not even to pick his head up and acknowledge or glare at Noah. An intelligible groan was all he had to say, something that was probably along the lines of ‘get out’.

As blunt and to-the-point as ever.

Considering that as much of an unintended invitation as anything, Noah pushed the door open. “I’ll assume that passed for a greeting.” Stepping over a discarded mound of clothes, he circled around to the occupied side of the bed. Said room was in scant better shape than the living room. A depleted liquor bottle stood on the nightstand. One last ration sat in the glass beside it. It was as convenient a conversation-starter as anything. “You’ve been drinking?”

“Nah, it's… fuckin’ decorative.” Gavin deigned that enough to turn his head at, glaring at Noah as if he wanted nothing more than for the android to leave - which he most likely did. The fuzzy, unfocused eyes did not really sell his aggravation. “The fuck are you - doin’ here? Go away. I really ain't in the mood to humor you.”

No, it didn’t seem so.

Noah’s attention went briefly to the pillowcase. It was badly in need of a wash, semi-soaked in a combination of sweat and tears, going by the trace analysis. Admittedly it didn’t smell too nice, either. When was the last time Reed _had_ changed this bedset?

“You were missed at the station, these past forty-eight hours,” the android explained, prompt as ever. “I volunteered to check in, ascertain that nothing was… or is wrong.”

He needn’t mention being practically alone in said decision. Detective Collins had neither seemed too dismissive nor readily supportive of the idea.

“Nope, I'm fine, just havin’ myself a pity party. Run along now, go report back.” Gavin huffed again, before putting his face back down, sinking into his bed once more. “You've seen it for yourself.”

(Or is the muffled translation seemed to indicate.)

Noah frowned, unseen as it was. Despite the apparent command to leave, a secondary (and even stronger) objective cropped up alongside it:

_Assist Detective Reed_

This was the same man who once said to be punched if he ever made another self-destructive decision. And the situation they found themselves in now didn’t call for brute force. It called for intervention.

“Detective, I can’t just - leave you like this.” Without getting too elaborate in his explanation, Noah grabbed the half-full glass from the nightstand. “For your own safety, I’d recommend you allow me to remain.”

“Fucking - _no._ Go away, Noah, I'm not gonna be so polite if you stick around. I'm not really feeling up for all this shit today.”

As opposed to any other day? What was it that had the man in such a miserable funk?

Running through a putifully-short list of options, Noah glanced down. His distorted reflection looked back from the shot of whiskey in his hand. Standing there, pleading with Gavin wasn’t going to get him to move. Wrestling and dragging him from the bed might inadvertently injure him.

Drinking so heavily, on a liver that was still mending - that couldn’t go unpunished.

Noah rapped a finger against the glass. Two could play the impolite game.

——-

Of course Noah was here, in his place, making some dumbass remarks about checking in on him. Gavin must've forgotten just how stubborn the RK900 could be when he felt like it - a fucking stare down to get him to concede, arguing over inane points if it didn't fit with what he knew - the android wasn't going to be convinced to leave that easily.

Curling himself even further away from him, Gavin felt some small amount of shame at his almost trashed looking apartment, and the one state he was in. But really, it wasn't enough to start making excuses, or explain just why he was acting the way he was.

Noah could work on their caseload by himself for a couple days. He had practically bragged as much after the surgery. Eventually, Gavin would pull himself together and come back in, no worse for wear.

He always did before. No reason this time should be any different -

“Then might we dedicate this last _toast_ to you?”

Pouring a glass of whiskey over someone’s head.

 _That_ was a new trick.

Gavin couldn't even think to move at the first instance, just let out some choked noise of outrage as the burning liquid coated his head and hair, probably getting all over his fucking blankets as well. After another splutter, he spun around, flailing only to hit absolutely nothing, and sat up, glaring up at him.

“What the _fuck_? You think that's gonna - make me get up? Asshole! Leave, seriously!”

Unmoved, glass still in hand, Noah only scowled. “Now that’s the you I’m more familiar with.”

Running a hand through his wet hair, only to pull it back and wipe it on his pants, Gavin grit his teeth. There had to be some way of getting rid of Noah, without doing any work he came with.

“Yeah, glad I could help. Thanks, now I'm gonna have to wash all my shit. You know, the thing I was tryin’ to avoid right now.” Looking at his bed, it was probably for the best. All the sheets and everything needed a good wash. He wasn’t half drunk enough to ignore what he could be sleeping in. “Okay, you've done your damage. The fuck else do you want?”

The scowl faded away, replaced by an almost-uncertain frown. “Nothing. I only… wanted to see if you were all right.”

Now that was a _real_ joke. Did someone at Central blackmail him into saying it?

“Okay, okay, sure. What else?” Gavin demanded, arms crossed to keep himself from deflating. The temptation of just lying back down, staring at the back of his eyelids for a couple hours was already creeping up on him. “I'll be back in a couple days, Noah, I ain't doin’ shit right now. I'll handle whatever shit got thrown our way, okay? Just give me my time.”

“What’s wrong?” Catching this very-forward question after the fact, Noah gripped the glass with both hands - presumably to keep his fingers from wringing. “Nothing was - thrown our way. You didn’t call, or let anyone know what’s happened. Detective Collins granted me time to come see you, to make sure you were all right. I can’t go back not knowing.”

Well, that crap certainly added up to a nice, big “mission: failed” for him, didn’t it?

Fuckin’ android. He could fake with the best of them when he tried.

“Just tell them I'm skippin’ because I can, then. They don't need to know anything, because I'm fine.” Which, really, even Noah could see wasn't true, for one reason or the next. And the only person who could have made Gavin feel better was gone now. That thought alone made his throat tighten up, made him swallow to try and get over it. “I'm still alive. There, go back with that, no one will care one way or the other.”

His partner wasn’t one for looking vulnerable, much less hurt by words. Hurt, for Noah, usually amounted to a moody glare with a frosty shellacking of silence. But apparently being lopped under the category of a proverbial “no one” rubbed him the wrong way. Feathers flaring, his brow knitted in thought. He looked pointedly at the glass in his hands, then turned and stepped back out of the room.

A few seconds later, the clinking sounds of gathered glasses being set in the kitchenette sink sounded off.

Gavin scowled.

Aw, fuck, did he hurt his pretend feelings with that?

Great, just another thing for him to think himself to death about. How he actually managed to be a big enough asshole to hurt his android partner's feelings, when Noah came over just to check up on him, that was pretty momentous in itself.

But it served to get his mind off of feeling sorry for himself for a precious few seconds.

The faucet turned on, water splashing against metal. “Your apartment is atrocious, Detective. At least let me be useful enough to clean it up some small measure.”

“Yeah, no, thanks.” Wiping his (somewhat grungy) face with the back of his hand, Gavin forced himself to the edge of his bed, staring down at the floor. If he could say it gently enough, tell Noah he just needed another day before coming back, maybe he could at least accept that. “I'll do it tomorrow, actually be productive.”

Giving one last resigned sigh, he stood up, almost dazed from how long he really had been just laying in bed. Getting up to check Colby's food, water dish, and litter box didn't really count, nor did using the bathroom, when it took him all of five minutes. He padded into the kitchen corner without even thinking of changing, or trying to get the alcohol out of him - that could come later.

“Seriously, dude… I - uh, thanks, for checkin’ on me, I know you're only bein’ helpful, but I'm fine. Just give me tomorrow, then I'll be back.”

There. A promise was made - Gavin would even let Noah hold him to it.

Clinging on to a momentary stubbornness, the android finished buffing out the caked-on discoloration at the bottom of a glass. Rinsing it under the tap, he set it in the drying rack with barely a glance. He plucked the next from the sudsy water without looking up.

Sullying the jacket didn’t seem to give him cause for concern. He had already been out in the rain. What was a little dishwater going to hurt?

“If you were actually fine, Detective, you would’ve called. You have a penchant for laziness, but you aren’t irresponsible.”

Laziness? Was this what all those coffee breaks and lackluster stakeouts led the tin can to believe? One look at his cluttered apartment was one damning look too many?

That was no reason to get all domestic _and_ psychological to boot.

“Laziness? Hey, I can't help if we end up with the most borin’ cases the precinct has ever seen. And I keep this place clean, usually, you know that!” Crossing his arms again, Gavin glared at the back of Noah's head, trying to will him to turn around. “Okay, well - I'll be fine soon enough. It's just taking some time.”

“Hmph.”

What was worse - the overly-wordy responses or the single-digit notes of disdain?

Either way, Noah only scrubbed another glass clean, rinsed, and racked it. There were at least four others to go through, not to mention those still standing atop the TV and stereo console. With accomplishing that task firmly in mind, the android clearly didn’t intend to leave until it was done.

Growing more frustrated, Gavin walked up to him, craning his neck around to stare at the android, even if he wouldn't look back. “Listen, if you don't _tell_ me what the fuck you want, I can't give it to you, okay? You want me to promise I'll be back? Clean up with you?”

Just like a regular child. It didn’t matter how new an android was. The semi-deviant types could border on infantile when they didn’t get their way. Noah tended to use big words, but he was no less pouty-seeming for it.

He set the third glass down with a metallic _thunk_. In the same breath, he shut the tap off.

“I want to know what’s wrong, Detective. How much more plainly can I say it?”

Answer that, maybe all the other curiosities would line up accordingly.

And there wasn't any way that Gavin could say it vaguely enough that would satisfy Noah. He would want as many details as he could get - and for what? There wasn't anything that anyone could do to make the situation any better. It was just what he had to do, try to tough the first couple days out without dealing with work.

“I don't…” Gavin trailed off, swallowing harshly again as he tried to think of just what to say. They had their talk after he got shot, in the hospital, so Noah at least partially knew about his last foster family - better known as, the only one that ever somewhat deserved to be called family. “I got a - just bad news. From a phone call, couple days ago.”

Given an inch of honesty, finally, Noah glanced sidelong at him. The actual head-turn would follow, because he wasn’t without odd beat-for-beat tics.

“Did you?”

“Yep.” Not saying anything else for a moment, Gavin knew that alone wasn't gonna satisfy him, one word responses. Having to say it out loud felt just as bad, though, than knowing it. He tried to swallow the new, painful lump it brought up. “My, uh - my foster mom, she didn't… she died.”

Maybe it wasn't fair to prefix the mom with foster, because really, they were the only people who really made him feel like he at least partially belonged there, that he wasn’t just placed with them by chance.

Did Noah have the same unspoken separation factor going for him? Emilia and Vernon were more his ‘siblings’ than the RK800s, but even they were kept at a distance. He didn’t try to get closer, nor did they. Which were his foster siblings, as opposed to real?

It had to occur to him. The way his face softened, the rough angles melting just enough to be noticeable, the android actually set the washrag down and looked at him.

 _Really_ looked at him.

“I’m sorry, Gavin.”

He opened his mouth to say something, before closing it, not willing to let himself say something that would probably start him down the path of tears. It happened, and he was dealing with it, best that he could without a support system. Instead of saying any more, lest he crumble any further, he shrugged, ducking his eyes to not have to look at Noah anymore.

“No one knew. Why didn’t you at least call in, on grounds of bereavement?”

“I didn't - it felt too hard.” he mumbled, staring down at the floor to keep his composure. Saying it out loud made it seem like such a dumb choice - which he knew it was. “Shit. No one really… knows about my life, okay? I didn't want to have to explain it, have anyone else know.”

Rather than look hurt or affronted, Noah glanced again at the trash-strewn living room. Suddenly the appalling state of it had to make so much more sense.

“You could at least tell me, Detective. I would’ve kept your confidence, one partner to another.”

He was onto something there. Perks of having an android to command to go mute, and it would obey, right? Noah’s programming wasn’t so fractured he ran loose at the mouth, worse than a junior high schooler.

“Didn't really wanna even think about it, much less talk about it.” Gesturing around at his apartment, covered with the strewn about bottles and cigarettes, Gavin shrugged again. “Sorry. Kinda just tryin’ to drown it out.”

“Is it working?” The genuine bafflement to cross Noah’s face was almost worth a laugh. “It all seems too… chaotic, to be therapeutic, to me.”

“Pfft. It has its benefits, but probably not exactly the type of therapy someone would recommend. Least I ain't thinkin’ about it, eh?” Gavin huffed, trying to turn their conversation to a lighter tone. “It's fine, Noah. I'll be fine.”

The chief component in overcoming grief was time. And it was fair to assume Noah simply didn’t know that. He was only, what, four, five months old? He hadn’t yet experienced the hurt of losing someone he cared about. The closest he knew was hanging out in a waiting room, playing cat’s cradle by his lonesome, while his partner was getting sewn back together.

Or so that’s what the (possibly lying) nurses at the duty desk said he did.

“If you say so, Detective.” Equivocal enough to settle the matter there, Noah’s LED blinked in time with his eyes. “What was her name?”

“Uhm…” The question was like another punch to the gut of grief for him, making him remember just why they were even talking here in the first place. Blinking back any moisture that was trying to escape, Gavin spoke again. “...Mary. But she was - pretty much the only person who said it was really okay to call her mom. The only one I actually wanted to.”

The sob story had been rather basic and unembellished, in hindsight. Noah didn’t need a slew of details beyond what could be summed up in a few sentences: the Kamski bastard son who had been permanently kept at arm’s distance all his life, being passed through more foster homes than there were windows at the CyberLife Tower, had more than earned his right to a bad attitude. Abrasiveness was a survival tool, nothing personal, and very few people he had ever met tried to see past it.

Mary Reed was the first to try and marginally succeed.

Running a quick background check, because that was what police androids did with names, Noah blinked again. “You kept her name. She must have found that okay, too.”

Fuck, Noah just had to go and say shit like that, didn't he? It made him tear up, something he had been trying to desperately avoid doing in front of anyone else. Bringing one hand up, Gavin wiped them away before there was any chance they could fall. “...Yeah. She did.”

Any more than that, it was too painful to consider. He would need at least another three shots to numb the nerves before speaking of it. Inconsiderate douche that he was, Noah had poured the last Tar Label over his head.

Didn’t he know that shit was expensive?

Sensing he was overstepping, Noah backpedaled. “Then is there anything I can do, to help? Today, that is. If you wanted to shower, I could tidy this space up, change your bed, before I depart.”

“Nah, it's okay. You can head back.” It wasn't really fair to just let someone else clean up his own mess, especially one he accumulated in just a couple of days. Noah didn't have to do that. “I'll clean it up, probably actually get some shit done.”

Outside, the rain didn’t let up. If anything, the tempo of water striking the windows increased. The flight back to Central would only be colder and wetter, the longer he delayed. But at least there he could get back to work, something he was good at, not standing here awkwardly with an unreceived hand of goodwill held out.

“Is there anything I should tell them?” Noah asked, wiping his hands dry, if only to not fidget so visibly. “I already know what I shouldn’t.”

“Just - you don't gotta tell them anythin’, just that I'll be back soon. I guess you can say it's something personal.” There wasn't much more Gavin would want his co-workers to know, besides Tina and Noah. Looking out at the rain made a much different memory come up for him, though, everything reminding him of some other memory of Mary. “Hey… you, uh - you wanna hear a story? About her?”

It was like setting cheese in front of a well-behaved mouse, or a sunflower seed in front of a budgie, to be more direct. Instantly, the interest returned to the android’s pale eyes. “It would help my perspective, Detective. Please.”

“So I - okay, I can admit it. I acted out a lot as a kid, tryin’ to get attention any way that I could, didn't really care if it was negative or positive for awhile. I got in trouble at school, a lot, because of it. It was, uh… not that long, into my stay with her and the rest of her family, maybe a couple of months. I got in some dumbass fight at school, same sort of conversation - 'we're gonna have to call your foster family, see what they say’ - all that shit.” Gavin shrugged, wincing as he remembered just how awful he had probably been at first. No one wanted to deal with the kid who put himself into fights on purpose. Wild children were the hardest to tame.

“It was rainin’ pretty hard I remember, and I took the bus home, just waiting to see what was gonna happen, see if they would yell at me or anythin’ else. But… I - when I went inside, everyone was waiting for me, I got sort of panicked at that point, worried they were about to throw me out or somethin’, but instead they all just… it was my birthday. I didn't really think anyone remembered, it's probably why I got into that fight in the first place, but they all just said ‘Happy Birthday!’ Like there was nothin’ else they woulda said. It was Mary who planned it, made sure I wouldn't be home yet, got me a fucking cake and presents and all sorts of shit, like an actual birthday party…”

Trailing off, Gavin shrugged, throat suddenly tight. Maybe he was looking into it deeper than he should, but it was one of the first times he really remembered having a birthday party, being someone who made sure he got that recognition. “I dunno. I guess it was when I realized that she actually cared about me. Like, not just havin’ me come through, but actually wantin’ me there.”

Noah wasn’t human, but he wasn’t without that kind of experience in his five months. He could relate, extrapolate as to how important it was to feel accepted and belonging, not just a temporary fixture like a chair or table.

Listening raptly, LED swirling and flickering, the softness reappeared in his expression. “Unconditionally. A very… sadly rare trait, in a social worker.”

“Pft. You're not wrong with that. But, uh… yeah. That was Mary, she just - she did everything she could just to make me feel like I was noticed by someone, I guess, that she actually… loved me. After all the other shit, it was nice to have that much.” And to be able to stay with his last family until he graduated, was on his way to independence, it meant a lot to have that stability. It may not have been happily-ever-after fairy tale grade, but it saved him from turning into one of the same lowlifes he occasionally dragged into a squad car.

Which made his regrets of not keeping in touch sting all the more.

Noah didn’t know what it was to have those yet. But lashing out with anger and wanting to bury yourself in isolated, self-destructive tendencies, it was typically a common root cause.

“After not having it at all, it was good of her to show you the difference. Show you that life… isn’t all bad. She sounds very astute.” Trailing off, knowing he was skirting back toward that invisible line, Noah frowned. “I’m sorry she’s gone, even if we’ve never met.”

“Yeah, so am I. But there's not anythin’ I can do about it.” There wasn't much else he could say on the matter, without breaking down even more than he already had. And if Gavin was trying to get back into a mentally-sound place where he could go to work in a day, or even tomorrow, he couldn't afford to do so. Bereavement was intended for actual family, not previously loved ones fallen out of touch with. “Just gotta keep goin’ on for now.”

Mary wouldn’t have wanted him to grieve too long, for anyone or for her. She was never one to dwell on regrets, lose oneself to pitfalls like depression and self-pity. Even if he had called the day before she passed, she would’ve simply been happy to hear from him. He wasn’t doing that badly, eeking out a living in the shadow of the company his own brother had built.

No one could know what that felt like. Not Mary. Not Noah. Not Tina. No one else at Central. And if there was a need for any of them to know, Gavin would decide that on his own time. His business was just that: his.

No well-meaning android was going to mix that up.

He sniffed, trying not to well up again. “And if this is the part where y’think you get to _hug_ me - ”

Noah interrupted in the form of patting him on the shoulder. “No. I understand, Detective. This is when I ‘fuck off’ and report back, yes?”

It might have been somber and self-depreciating, but the fact he said it with one of those tiny half-smiles indicated differently.

“Pfft - I won't argue with that.” Gavin couldn't help let out some huff of laughter at that, tiny as it was. “Yeah, we might be right at that part. Uh… thanks for checkin’ on me, I guess. Don't tell anyone about this, or I'll kick your ass.”

With a raised eyebrow the very definition of _as-if_ , Noah stepped past him, heading for the door. “Consider me advised. I’m sorry about the bed, but it really could use clean sheets besides.”

Curled up atop the back of the couch, indifferent to the drama as ever, Colby’s yellow eyes opened to slits. Lazily as ever, they tracked him until the door opened, closed, then shut again.

(How he had seen the dangling feathers and not gone after them - that was anybody’s guess.)

One hand wandering up to his sticky, clumped-up hair, remembering that yes, in fact Noah _had_ dumped the remaining whiskey all over his face, Gavin let out a hiss of indignation. It was a jacked-up way to show he cared.

But still nice to know someone did.

“Asshole. See you later.”

He did have some cleaning to do, it seemed.


End file.
